Fourth Time's The Charm
by fbi-woman
Summary: Three times Buck almost says 'I love you', and the first time he actually does it. Spoilers through season 1. Abby/Buck


Title: Fourth Time's the Charm

Author: fbi_woman

Rating: M

Type: 9-1-1, Abby/Buck, angst

Spoilers: Set post-season 1

Disclaimer: I don't own 9-1-1 or any of its characters or anything associated with it, not affiliated with Fox, etc etc.

Summary: Three times Buck almost said 'I love you', and the first time he actually does it. Spoilers through season 1.

A/N: Shout out to sciencekitty, whose 'Cigarettes and Outer Space" fic inspired me to want to try a different style of writing, and to Jay for encouraging me to actually go through with doing it. Taking a bit of a leap of faith here, hopefully it was worth it. Pretty nervous about posting it tbh. The last part is an idea that I jotted down on my list about a month or so ago, but I felt it had the best potential for being reshaped, so I twisted it into this. There _is_ a tense switch after the first sentence, and then again right as the first part ends, which I hope isn't too confusing. It's sort of a combination of a reflection on how she came into his life and where he's at right now. The remaining parts are happening in real time, so it's meant to stay the same from there on out. I apologize for any slip-ups – I'm a terrible editor when it comes to my own work, and I'm extremely out of practice at writing in the present tense. Not sure why I don't typically use it – I didn't actually realize that I never do until I started this lol.

* * *

Buck has never told a woman he loves her, probably because he had never been in love before. Back then he wasn't sure he actually believed in love; it just seemed like some abstract thing that was supposedly out there, but he only ever saw it in movies or on TV. He imagined it was more a feeling of obligation to someone you've been with for a long time, as opposed to some kind of deep, emotional experience. Of course, that was before he met Abby.

Everything changed when he met her. Or rather, he supposed, _before_ he met her – it had actually started when they were only talking on the phone. Meeting in person had only confirmed it. He knew from the first call that she was something special: she was smart, passionate, and incredible under pressure. For those reasons, he was also pretty sure she was way out of his league.

For a while afterwards though, he regretted not finding out. Why hadn't he given her his number again? You know, aside from the fact that she probably would have found it unprofessional, and he was already in hot water for unprofessional behaviour. It felt like he had been given a second chance when he had answered the phone that one afternoon and heard her voice on the other end, and he wasn't going to waste it.

It was always an oddly personal relationship for him, especially for a girl he hadn't actually met. He wasn't usually the type to talk about his feelings, but for whatever reason, he felt safe with her. She understood, and she never judged him. And she actually _wanted_ to know about him. Most women were more interested in him _physically_ , and while he was typically happy to take advantage of that, it was nice to feel like someone actually thought there was more to him than that.

He learned that he could be a good listener too, and there was something validating about knowing that she trusted him enough to share details about her life. When she asked him out and he had said no, he had known he was in trouble. Her mere existence in his life had started to uncover a side of him that he hadn't known existed. In hindsight, he should have realized right then and there that he would one day wind up here: head over heels in love with her, and terrified to tell her.

* * *

The first time he almost says it, they're at the airport and she's leaving. The words had been swirling in his head from the moment she said she was going. The way his heart aches when he thinks about being without her leaves little doubt that this is the real deal. He had decided he would keep his feelings to himself for now, not wanting to make things even harder for her, but as he kisses her goodbye, panic rises in his chest. He _has_ to say it now – what if he never gets another chance?

As he stands there, his forehead resting against hers, he opens his mouth to tell her, but his throat closes up in fear and anguish, and the words just won't come out. He shakes his head as he walks away, frustrated with himself for letting her leave without knowing just how much he cares. He doesn't sleep a wink that night, and it has nothing to do with the party his roommates are throwing. A few days ago, he was staying with her and feeling like his life was really coming together; now he's alone in his room and everything is falling apart.

He tries to be happy with phone calls and facetime, but it seems like they're moving backwards instead of forwards. That thought scares him, though he never admits it to her. He isn't used to having someone to lose. And he wonders, at least weekly, if that's what is happening. But she's happy and enjoying herself, so he tries his hardest to bury his fears. She deserves this, and the last thing he ever wants is to bring her down.

When she tells him she's coming home, it feels like the best day of his life.

* * *

Naturally, the second time he almost says it is also at the airport. He had never been happier to see someone, and the second she walks through security, he's out of his seat and walking towards her. Their eyes meet, and then she's rushing towards him and they're locked in a tight embrace.

"God Abby, I – "

The words are on the tip of his tongue when she silences him with a kiss, and it feels so good that all coherent thought is wiped from his mind. He can't believe she's finally in his arms again. She's even wearing that vanilla lip stuff she knows he likes. When they finally break apart, her cheeks are flushed and his heart is racing.

"I missed you too," she says with a laugh.

He smiles and lets her think that was what he was about to say. They have all the time in the world now, and the night is young. At least, for him it is. She's asleep by the time he merges onto the highway. He doesn't mind though; he's over the moon just to have her beside him again. If all he does for the rest of the night is hold her while she sleeps, he'll still be more than happy. He sleeps better that night than he has in the past 3 months.

They pick up right where they left off, seamlessly falling into a routine. There wasn't any more talk of him officially moving in but he spends most nights there anyways, and after so long without her, he's content with this arrangement for now. He knows he should tell her what he was really going to say that day, but he has no idea when or how to do it. Sure they're just three little words, but he wants to do it right.

* * *

The third time he almost tells her, they're lying in her bed. Their schedules had not been very accommodating lately, and it had been 4 days since they had gotten more than an hour or two together. Unsurprisingly, when they finally get a night to themselves, they never make it out of the apartment. He grabs her the minute she walks in the door and her hands go straight for his belt. They all but tear their clothing off, leaving it scattered through the entranceway. They only make it as far as the couch before he turns her around and bends her over the back of it.

"Please," she gasps, and he's powerless to resist her. He can't say no to her, and she knows it.

He groans as he plunges into her tight, wet, heat. It's amazing every time, and he thinks he'll never get enough of her. She pushes back against him with every thrust, and it isn't long before she's crying out. She shatters around him, bringing him over the edge with her.

Later, after dinner, he takes her bed. This round is unhurried and tender, and he takes the time to thoroughly worship her body. He's missed her, all of her, even if it's only been 4 days. By the time he enters her, he's almost painfully hard, but he refuses to let his hunger set the pace. He slowly rocks in and out, starting with shallow thrusts and sinking deeper as time goes on. She arches off the bed, breathing out his name as she comes, and it sounds like benediction from her lips. He follows shortly after.

He rolls onto his back to catch his breath and she snuggles up to his side, resting her head on his shoulder. Her skin is so soft and warm against his, and the moonlight catches her rose gold waves in a way that makes her seem to glow. As he looks down at her, he wonders for the millionth time how he got so damn lucky. She looks up at him then, and the emotion swirling in her eyes makes his heart constrict. God, he loves her. He wants to tell her, so badly, but isn't it cliché to tell a woman you love her after sex? When he says it, he wants her to know he _means_ it.

"What are you thinking about?" she asks quietly.

He lets the doubt win and says, "How beautiful you are."

She smiles and closes her eyes, drifting off to sleep. He'll tell her soon, he swears it.

* * *

It's over a month later when he finally says it. He's working late that night, made later by the massive house fire they get called to, and she has an early morning shift. Not wanting to disturb her when he gets in, he said he would spend the night at his place. But by the time they get back to the station, he already knows that isn't going to happen.

The fire itself is devastating, in more ways than one. The entire house is already engulfed in flames when they arrive, and they all know there will be almost nothing left by the time it's extinguished. Worst of all, they're too late to save the occupant. It's evident as soon as they find her that she's likely already gone, but Bobby scoops her up and rushes her to the ambulance anyways. They pronounce her dead at the scene and call the police.

By the time the cops arrive, the building is little more than a rickety frame and piles of charred embers. But then another car rolls up to the scene, and it's all heartache from there. The driver bursts out of the car, running towards what's left of the house and screaming his wife's name in agony. It takes him, Bobby, and one of the cops to restrain the husband and move him a safe distance away. The officer quietly breaks the tragic news and the man collapses to his knees, sobbing.

"I'll never forgive myself," the man wails.

"For what?" he asks gently. "You couldn't have known this was going to happen."

"Not that," the man says, shaking his head, "for not saying goodbye. Every day when I leave for work, I kiss her goodbye and tell her I love her. She hasn't been feeling well and she was sleeping when I left. I didn't want to wake her up. It was my last chance to kiss her and tell her I love her, and I didn't do it."

The words pierce him like an arrow, and for a minute he can't breathe, he just watches as the man crumbles and dissolves into tears again.

When he finds his voice, he says, "I'm sure she knew", and leaves the officers alone with the grieving husband.

No one utters a word during the drive back to the station house and he keeps hearing his own sentiment ringing in his ears – _I'm sure she knew_ – like it's haunting him. What if the roles were reversed? Could he believe that was true, if _he_ were in that man's position? _Would_ she know if he hasn't told her?

It's 3am by the time he pulls up to her building. He feels guilty as he pulls out his phone, knowing he'll wake her, but he's petrified to leave this unsaid.

"Hey, I know it's late but I just… I have to see you."

She's groggy and confused, but of course invites him upstairs. Using the key she gave him before she left, he enters the darkened apartment and finds her sitting on the bed with the table lamp on. He must look as shaken as he feels, because she opens her arms as soon as she sees him. He sits and pulls her onto his lap, holding her tight against his chest and burying his face in her shoulder. She rubs his back and whispers soothingly in his ear while he fights the hot tears pricking his eyes and tries to get himself together, clinging to her like a lifeline.

Taking a deep breath, he finally pulls back enough to look her in the eyes, and says what's on his mind: "I need you to know that I love you."

It's not special, or romantic, or anything else he thought such a declaration should be, aside from heartfelt and genuine. But it's been a hard day, and the thought of _never_ saying it has become far scarier to him than actually saying the words could ever be. She's everything to him, and he has to be sure she knows that… even if it's the middle of the night, and he's not supposed to be here right now.

"I know you do," she says with a soft smile, "and I love you too."

The relief is palpable, and as his anxiety washes away, exhaustion quickly sets in.

"Can I stay?" he asks.

She kisses him softly. "Always."


End file.
